


Razor to the Rosary

by victorianvirgil



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Drag, Dubious Consent, M/M, Temporary Character Death, Victorian era, also it’s not explicit just yet, and lmao I’m (ronnie) posting this here because mac lowkey doesn’t know how, but it’s okay we love her, idk just be safe!!!, like consent but they’re both intoxicated and there’s no ‘yes’ but implied yes, logan is also a miner, roman is a rich fuck, this is the first fic idea I gave mac to start our account and I’m very excited, virgil is a miner
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2019-10-21 18:48:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17647985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victorianvirgil/pseuds/victorianvirgil
Summary: In the earliest days of 1846, London, England was home to both the poorest of souls and the affluent, blood-sucking fiends that profited off of the former. Virgil Darcy decidedly lingered at the lower tier of the pyramid, barely living off of his weak mining wages. But despite that, a small ember of hope resided inside of him. Things would surely get better if he worked harder, or he would die trying.But any hopes of a future were smothered the day a cocky aristocrat with a smile as blinding as the heavens damned Virgil to hell with a simple kiss.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey!
> 
> for clarification, be sure to read the author’s note at the end!

_January_ _16th_ _,_ _1846_

The dead of winter was known for people bustling around in the flurries of snow all day, looking forward to a roaring fire and a warm house each night. For Virgil, that meant suffering. He slaved away in the mines all day and into the night; he, more often than not, didn’t have a warm home to unwind in after the insufferably long day met its end.

During blizzards, he’d seek shelter in a nearby workhouse where he was hardly welcome. Tonight, however, was not one of those nights. The sky was clear, but the air bit his skin through his thin clothes and shredded through his already asthmatic lungs with each breath. His feet slid around on the ice-covered cobblestone, and he made a futile attempt to warm his hands with his breath.

The streets had mostly cleared out by this time, save for a few drifters, and made it easy for him to find a bench that he’d call home for the night. The cold made it difficult to sleep away his worries, but his body was exhausted, so he attempted to drown out his impending frostbite with his thoughts. He thought about the gentle weight of money in his pocket and prayed for a day where he wouldn’t be sleeping on benches. When his money was good for more than just a bite of food. He assumed he’d be dead before that ever happened. He prayed to a merciful lord. One that would offer him a miracle, or just kill him now. Either way, he was satisfied. Content in that deathwish, he began to drift.

“Excuse me,” came a quiet voice. Virgil pretended to not hear it.

The disembodied voice cleared its throat, a clear indication that it knew Virgil was ignoring it. Virgil allowed his eyes to flutter open. In his line of sight stood a strapping man, obviously of a higher class. Virgil almost scoffed.

“How do you do, _sir_?” Virgil asked, voice dripping with annoyance. He’d have rather froze to death in peace, god willing.

The other man smirked, offering his jacket to Virgil. “I don’t need your charity, sir,” he said, declining the jacket.

“Charity has nothing to do with it. Charity would be _trying_ to ensure your life. This? This is just common courtesy to make sure you don’t go and expire on my front doorstep,” he snarked. “Now come along, I’ve handled enough corpses today,” he said. Virgil was taken aback by the comment.

“I’m a mortician,” he said. Virgil shivered- the temperature had been dropping. He felt unsettled by the situation, but followed the man, regardless.

The man, whose name he later learned to be Roman, had been exaggerating when he had claimed Virgil was going to die on his front doorstep. In all actuality, Roman’s house was a grandeur formation a little way down the street. Virgil had seen the house a few times while he was heading to work, but he always doubted the existence of actual life inside. A house like that was far too nice for someone to really step foot in. Nevertheless, Roman held the door open, and Virgil did just that. He passed a mirror in the entryway, and was able to fully examine his grimy appearance. Ash and dirt covered the vast majority of his face, and was caked underneath his eyes, deeming him nearly unrecognizable. He looked pitiful, and that’s exactly what Roman was doing: pitying him. He suddenly felt very small.

Roman let Virgil bathe, and gave him fresh clothes to change into. They were much nicer than anything he was used to, and it was a relief to wear something that wasn’t caked in coal dust for a change. Once he finished, he took a minute to admire the architecture and design of the house. People with money annoyed Virgil to no end, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to live just like them one day. He ran his fingertips along the red and gold wallpaper, stopping when he reached a door frame. Virgil glanced in, and was somewhat surprised to see Roman setting his dining room table. He was unsure of the time, but assumed it to be a few hours past midnight.

“Oh! Come join me for dinner, please!” said Roman, upon realizing Virgil’s loitering.

“I couldn’t,” he protested, despite his confusion. “You’ve done more than plenty for me already.”

“Rubbish. Besides, what’s one meal?”

Hesitantly, Virgil drifted towards the table. He started making his way towards the end of the table when Roman beckoned him closer. He laughed lightly.

“Now come on, I don’t bite, Virgil,” he said carefully with an irritatingly charming smirk.

Something in Roman’s voice seemed oddly welcoming... not to mention, he hadn’t had a proper meal in quite some time. Virgil decided he could stay a little longer. Roman gave him a plate of food and he wasted little to no time digging in.  He poured them each a glass of some kind of sweet Sherry that Virgil had surely never seen. He watched as Roman poured the dark liquid into Virgil’s glass and then his own.

“Why are _you_ doing that?” asked Virgil.

“What?”

“Shouldn’t you have servants waiting on you hand and foot?” he asked. Roman sipped his drink and shook his head. He gently placed the glass on the table before diverting his attention completely to Virgil.

“I don’t see the need. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

A beat of silence between the two of them. Virgil was suddenly aware of how quiet and empty the house really was.

“You live on your own?” he asked. Roman nodded with a shrug. More silence.  Virgil looked everywhere but Roman’s eyes. He stared down into his drink before taking a tiny sip. They finished their meals together in mostly silence despite the occasional bouts of small talk and the sound of Virgil’s glass being refilled. He was anxious in this unfamiliar situation, and his head had become fuzzy as he knocked back glass after glass of Sherry to calm his nerves. His cheeks burned and he felt unexplainably light.

The silence was only beginning to feel awkward when Roman broke it.

“Say, how would you like a tour of the house?”

Virgil nodded in a sort of inexplicable agreement. He downed the rest of his glass, getting up to follow Roman through his prestigious home. Roman rambled on and on about the history of the home and who had built it. Instead of really listening, Virgil trailed him wordlessly, watching the man in front of him with a sobering intent despite his mildly inebriated state. He eyed the man’s build while he spoke, unable to draw his attention anywhere else. Roman carried himself with an obvious sense of confidence, his spine aligned and his shoulders set. He had a powerful, almost intimate sort of energy that made Virgil feel drawn to him. Each word that rolled off of Roman’s tongue was delivered in a soft, almost alluring manner. Probably quite the charmer with women.

Virgil was never great with women. Or he never cared enough to be. Most women he had been around were always too timid, too submissive- even to someone as broke as Virgil. Something about their fragility turned him away. He never paid much attention to them anyways; his priorities were working and surviving another night. No time for distractions.

Roman led him down the seemingly endless hallway, showing him inside each room briefly. The end did come, however. Roman paused at a door that abruptly cut off the passage, and fumbled around for a key on top of the doorframe. He unlocked the door, and allowed Virgil to pass in front of him. Virgil eyed what he learned to be Roman’s bedroom. It was excessive, albeit gorgeous. Virgil briefly acknowledged its upkeep and design as almost effeminate, a trait he wouldn’t have initially pinned to Roman. An impressive vanity stood against his wall. He gave it a passing glance, despite its size. It wasn’t nearly the most striking aspect of the room. His bed was gigantic, enveloped in sheets of golden silk and a thick blanket of white wool. Roman gestured to it, and threw himself onto the bed. He breathed in a sigh as the mattress gave gently beneath him.

Roman beckoned, offering a spot next to him. Virgil shuffled to the edge of the bed. He tried to remember the last time he’d actually been in a bed. Ah, it had been with that mill owner’s son. He wondered where that boy was now. Hell, he hadn’t thought of him in some time. Damn sodomite lost him his job. Made him homeless and of all things a _miner._ Of course, what they were doing was obviously not the sole fault of the mill owner’s son, but Virgil would pin the full blame on him until the day he died. The image of his sweaty body beneath Virgil’s crossed his mind fleetingly and caused a twitch between his legs. He attempted to ignore it by prompting Roman to talk about women.

“I bet the ladies love this,” he said, motioning to the room. A short laugh erupted from Roman’s throat. Virgil dropped his head in embarrassment, careful not to meet Roman’s eyes.

“You, uh, you could say that,” he said, with that cunningly charming smile. As the words left his mouth, Roman deftly captured Virgil’s lips with his own. His hand involuntarily rose to gently cup Roman’s cheek. He kissed him back, ignoring his shock, and moved his body closer to Roman’s. Roman pushed his back down into the mattress, allowing himself to hover over Virgil’s body. Virgil was taken aback for a second by the flash of dominance he saw engulf Roman’s irises. It intimidated him, almost frightened him.

It turned him on.

As they kissed, Virgil fumbled for the buttons on Roman’s shirt. Roman broke the kiss for a moment to unbutton his shirt and cast it aside. Virgil let his fingertips softly graze the skin of Roman’s bare chest, before reconnecting their mouths. Virgil turned his head to the side, allowing Roman to push his tongue between his lips. A sigh inadvertently escaped Virgil’s mouth at the sudden intrusion. Roman smirked against his lips at that. He began to trail feverish kisses along his jawline, all the way to his neck. He paused there, sucking on it, leaving a mark. Roman bit his neck gently, causing Virgil to moan softly. Just then, Virgil felt Roman’s teeth pierce his neck painfully slowly, getting deeper by the second. A choked sound escaped Virgil’s lips as he dug his nails into Roman’s back.

“Ah, Roman, what-”

He gasped as Roman bit down harder, blood trickling down his neck. Virgil clutched Roman’s back desperately as his vision started to spot and turn fade at the edges. Roman pulled away from him, to look him in the eyes. Through his blurring vision, he saw Roman’s mouth covered in blood, that same cocky grin plastered onto it with two unmistakable fangs protruding from his lips. Virgil had no time for shock, as the sight before him turned pitch black. His grip on Roman became limp while he fell into an abyssal unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> VAMPIRES, BITCH! whaddup homies, mac here, and this is the first chapter of an ongoing fic i’m writing! fun fact, this was one of the original concepts that birthed this account, hence the name “victorianvirgil”. this fic, albeit trash, is actually kind of my baby and i really hope you guys like it. i love the idea of anything in victorian london and i just really felt a crippling need to add a vampiric spin to it.
> 
> i know this is kind of short for all i hyped it up to be, but thank you for bearing with me, and there will definitely be more in the future!  
> till next time,  
> mac


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil copes with being a vampire.

_January 17th, 1846_

Virgil blinked his eyes open to a white ceiling, an enclosed room as opposed to the muddled, watery London sky. His body was engulfed by golden sheets, a soft bed hugging his frame. He took a second to process where he was, before sitting up. He looked around for his lover, but found nobody. His neck stung, and he brushed his fingers over the bruised skin. _Guess things got rowdy,_ he thought. Slowly, he forced his body to move, stretching out as he swung his legs over the bed. With a huff, he forced himself out of the warm embrace of the comfortable bed, and through the halls of Roman’s house. When he found no trace of him, Virgil began to make his way towards the mines. He felt bad just _leaving,_  but there really wasn’t much else he could’ve done.

As he walked, he tried desperately to remember the previous night. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion when he found it hard to recall more than a few details. He remembered kissing Roman until his lips were numb, but that was where his memory blanked. Too much alcohol, he supposed. He grazed his thumb over his mouth, the ghost of Roman’s lips still haunting him. It bothered him that he couldn’t remember.

Virgil continued to let his confusion plague his brain all the way to the mines, down the mine-shaft, and well into his work day. He couldn’t quite place his discomfort, but then again, he couldn’t seem to shake it.

“Virgil,” Logan called. He was looking at Virgil, a concerned expression on his face. His face was smeared with coal dust, covering the lenses in his glasses. He had hastily wiped away the grime on his lenses, revealing two icy blue eyes. Logan was a close friend and coworker for however long Virgil had worked in the mines, which was coming on five years. He was one of the first to even speak to him when he joined. A couple of outcasts, he supposed. Virgil simply looked in the direction of his voice upon being called.

“Are you feeling ill?” He asked. Virgil shot him a confused look, which he doubted Logan would even see under the dimly lit lamplight of the mine.

“Of course not. Why?”

“Your cart has been teeming with an overabundance of coal for the last ten minutes. I thought you would have taken notice, but something seems to be otherwise occupying your thoughts,” he said. Virgil turned to his cart, which was indeed, overflowing.

“It's nothing,” Virgil lied.

“Well, whatever it is, do not stop. I was positive that you would have had an asthma attack by now, but there you are,” Logan joked.

Virgil forced a laugh as his discomfort crept back, making his skin crawl.

“Oh, Virgil! Pat wants you to join us for one of her sporadic early dinners tomorrow. She insists on celebrating,” said Logan, rolling his eyes a little as he drove the pickaxe into the ground.

“Celebrating what?” asked Virgil, curiosity present in his tone.

“Oh, I don’t know. Life, perhaps? You are aware of how she can be.”

Virgil laughed. “Eccentric, that one.”

“Exactly. Ah, but then again, I went and married her,” said Logan. He smiled as he absentmindedly twisted his wedding band around his finger. It was surely caked in coal dust now, probably blackened beyond recognition, but Logan refused to take it off.

Virgil grinned to himself as he returned to working. They were so in love. He wondered if he’d ever have something remotely close to them. Probably not. His taste was not exactly orthodox. He wound up and slammed his pickaxe into the stone.

The dark skies that greeted him signified the end of the workweek. He planted himself on a bench, similar to the one from the night before. He took a deep breath of the frigid air and shut his eyes.

Silence. Unsettling silence.

He shot up. His lungs weren’t rattling with every broken breath. There were no dust filled wheezes to rock him into his comatose sleep. It seemed like he wasn’t breathing at all. _Jesus Christ,_ he thought. _I’ve done it. I’m dead._ He felt nearly giddy.

“I take it you’ve realized by now,” a voice uttered from behind him. Virgil spun around. An aristocrat held a pocket watch in his hand. Roman. He looked down at it, before making eye contact with Virgil.

“Oh, it’s you,” he began. He had plenty of questions for him, but he decided to start with, “Realized, what?”

“Oh, right,” the man said, clearly remembering something Virgil didn’t.

He grabbed Virgil’s shoulders and kissed him hard and fast. Virgil was taken aback by the kiss, at first. He was suddenly reminded of memories from the previous night and just as quick, flooded with overwhelming panic as he remembered Roman sinking his teeth into his skin. He shoved Roman backwards.

“What’d you do to me?” Virgil asked, voice wavering.

“Just er, played with your memory a tad. No worries, darling.”

“No- why aren’t I _breathing?”_  Virgil asked incredulously.

Roman shrugged and pointed to something in the street.

“What-” Virgil began asking, looking towards the empty street. When he turned back, Roman was gone.

“God dammit!” Virgil yelled at no one in particular. He sighed, frustrated, and wracked his brain for the way to Roman’s house. His legs began to guide him there before he could protest. His movements were considerably more rapid than he remembered. His body was more agile, and his limbs weren’t aching in the usual feeble, malnourished manner he was used to. He felt good.

Before his mind could comprehend it, he was staring at the door he’d seen the previous night. Annoyed, he began rapping his knuckles against it continuously, becoming increasingly louder as he grew more irritated. Very suddenly, an exasperated Roman threw open the door and dragged Virgil out of his doorway by the back of his collar. He continued down the street, his grip on Virgil not faltering.

“You just couldn’t leave it alone,” he said with a huff.

“What are you doing? Stop-” Virgil fought.

“Shut up.”

Virgil didn’t utter another word. Something in Roman’s tone, cold and stern, paralyzed him to submission.

Finally, they approached a street corner where a homeless man slept. Roman hastily let go of Virgil, who then fell to his knees on the slick, cobblestone pavement.

“Bite him,” said Roman, quietly.

“What? Why would I-”

“Don’t be a coward, Virgil.”

Virgil didn’t move a muscle, staring up at Roman with bewildered disgust. Roman sighed and dragged the man from his corner. He sunk his teeth into his neck without hesitation, without even giving the man a chance to process the situation.

He began to writhe and shout in pain, making Virgil flinch with every guttural cry for help that tore from his throat. Roman covered the mouth of the panicking man as he began to drain his body. The second Roman’s fangs had pierced the man’s skin, Virgil felt his insides twist with a mix of repulsion and hunger. The repulsion subsided, replaced with only hunger and pure curiosity. He turned to intently watch Roman, easily stronger, continue to inhumanly devour the helpless man as he finally faded into submission. Roman felt this, as the second he fell limp in his grasp and the screaming subsided, he threw the almost lifeless body towards Virgil.

The smell of blood overwhelmed his senses. He internally fought himself- the part of him that was still human wanted to run, horrified by what he was looking at. But the other part was intrigued, and damn near ravenous. He had tried to fight off the stabbing pains in his stomach, but his attempts were useless, and he clamped his teeth into the same spot Roman had lacerated. The metallic-tasting liquid flooded past his lips, and he was overwhelmed with a sense of unexplainable pleasure. Virgil sank his fangs deeper into the flesh of the man barely clinging to life. He mercilessly lapped at the red liquid, feeling it trickle down his chin. He dragged himself away from the corpse only when he felt full, and the body was no more than a wilted casing of what used to be a living person. Virgil’s body was buzzing, overpowered by his newfound desire, and his vision began to spot.

Roman smirked as he overlooked the scene. He looked right past the corpse, which now, barely looked human. Instead, his eyes focused on Virgil, who was in a trance-like daze, fangs poking delicately out of his red-stained mouth. Roman bit his cheek. What a sight. He pulled Virgil’s head towards his, wasting no time in sliding his tongue between the other man’s lips. Virgil, without thinking, yanked a fistful of Roman’s shirt, tilting his head as he allowed Roman to dominate him. He tasted the blood on Roman’s tongue, sending Virgil over the edge. His vision continued to spot as he melded into Roman, drifting farther and farther from reality and into a euphoric state of repose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! finally yeeted out chapter two for y’all. sorry it’s been like ten years since chapter one … oops. also thank u ronnie for all ur help. anyways, expect more frequent updates from ya girl bc im outta school yah yeet. hope you like this one.
> 
> till next time,  
> mac


	3. Chapter 2.5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman takes Virgil away from the crime scene, and (to a) home.

_January 18, 1846_

Roman pulled away softly as Virgil fell into his body, rolling his eyes as he did so. The smaller man, acting as though he were intoxicated, grappled the fabric of Roman’s shirt desperately, clutching onto him for support. A mess against him, high on the euphoric feeling that came with drinking for the first time.

He’d get used to it, and even if he was still a fledgling, Roman couldn’t help scoffing at the blundering fool in his arms.

Roman hummed quietly, dwelling on just leaving Virgil on the street corner, at the mercy of the unforgiving human world. He’d undoubtedly be arrested for murder, and Roman would never have to worry about seeing his face again. It’d be easy, damn easy.

Confined in a cell for eternity or at least until the thirst had him begging for a stake to be driven through his own unbeating heart. And Roman, despite himself, shivered.

Haphazardly wiping the blood from Virgil’s mouth, he picked him up and carried him down the street. He was light, a tiny thing, really, but there was a strain inside of Roman, something stirring in his chest.

God, there must be something wrong with him.

 _Where to drop him, where to drop him,_ he thought to himself, eyeing the bench Virgil had planted himself on the night they met but quickly moving on. He wracked his brain for people who lived in the area, someone competent and relatively trustworthy. It was the son of a wealthy man he finally settled upon, one Roman had known for some time. He always thought it had been silly- after his father’s death, the son had passed on the inheritance of his family’s company to his younger brother, so he could settle down with some girl.

What a compassionate asshole. But, it was a reasonable place to leave Virgil.

They made their way down the dimly-lit streets, the man in his arms barely moving a muscle. Virgil, limp in his arms, was paler than a bride’s wedding dress, and he looked much like one, in fact, with the way Roman carried him. Virgil’s face was partially buried in Roman’s chest, and the man could feel him breathing delicately into the fabric of his shirt.

Curious thing, Virgil had no need to breathe anymore.

Roman looked down at him, and for once, the lines of concern were entirely absent from his face. As if sensing the other’s gaze, Virgil lifted his head to look up at him, a hint of mischievousness dancing in his eyes. A tiny smile spread across his lips and he shifted slightly in Roman’s arms, making himself comfortable in them. Somehow moving closer than before, much closer. Roman tore his eyes away from him immediately, directing his focus back to the street.

There was no one in sight, no man clad in a three piece suit unbuttoned at the collar to reveal the markings of his mistress nor a woman, lost in more ways that just physically, stumbling alone in the dark. No one to see them, not at this hour, to note the blood staining their teeth and the corners of their mouths, and yet.

Roman quickened his pace, unsure of what the feeling was and why it filled him the way the streets of London were with people come sunrise.

It wasn’t far now, anyway, not that he had been to Logan’s place in years and particularly had the timing of the distance down to a science. He had never been invited at all, actually, but in case it was ever necessary, he had made it his responsibility to keep track of old friends. For times like this, even if, come morning, Virgil wouldn’t appreciate his effort.

He mumbled something against his chest, fingers digging into Roman’s bicep. Roman felt a smirk crawl onto his lips, despite Virgil’s words being inaudible.

Roman approached Logan’s home. A rather humble place, not that it should have surprised Roman, given his extensive knowledge of Logan. He was a miner, after all, and even if he had a small fortune to his name, he was a sensible man. No need to dabble with the expensive luxuries Roman threw himself into.

Through the windows decorated with frost, Roman could see that the lights were out save for a single candle burning on one of the sills. Hazardous, really, Logan should know better. Clearly, the couple were sleeping and definitely unprepared to have a man covered in blood dropped on their doorstep. Roman almost pitied them, but not nearly enough to choose another pair.

He gently lowered Virgil onto the ground in front of their door. The other man whined, clawing at the air where the other had been seconds before in a vain attempt to reclaim his place in Roman’s arms, but Roman was quicker than he appeared, rising to his feet and towering over the smaller male. Virgil groaned in defeat as Roman reached for the door knocker.

He then pressed a finger to his lips, motioning for the other to be silent as he slipped into the shadows. Virgil strained to follow him with his eyes, but still unaccustomed to his powers, lost him soon enough, even if Roman stayed relatively nearby as to make sure that, upon the door being answered, he would be accommodated.

A woman clad in a white nightgown was the one to open the door, disheveled hair alluding to the fact that she had been in a deep sleep and that her husband most likely still was. It was the first Roman had seen of her. Pretty. 

“Virgil?” she asked, voice hoarse and filled with genuine surprise. Upon hearing his name, he dragged his gaze away from where he was still watching for Roman. “Honey, are you alright?” Virgil nodded, but Pat was already helping him to his feet. Roman heard a worried “You’re covered in blood” as she ushered him into the house. The door clicked shut behind them, severing Roman from Virgil once more.

Roman shivered as the sudden silence suffocated him like a chloroform rag.

An empty feeling swallowed him- or more accurately, resurfaced again without another body, however cold, against his own.

He was rather familiar with loneliness, he treated it like an old friend, and he’d known it intimately since he was first Turned, when he realized that all he loved would age and die while he remained forever young. But right then, it was as if he were feeling it for the very first time. Burning beneath his skin and in the darkness of a cold winter night, bitter in more ways than one.

Eternity was a goddamn long time to be alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! i wrote this just to clear some stuff up for the impending chapter, i guess. so this is technically a ficlet because its in roman’s point of view, but i just really wanted to get it out. also thank you so much ronnie for helping me with this! she did a lot on this, and i hope u enjoy ! :’)


End file.
